Zoni Intelligence
by Ratchetthe1sKicksAss44
Summary: A new pirate menace has struck the galaxy! Pirate Captain Blackheart and his scurvy crew proves more than a match for Ratchet and the smuggler. But when the Zoni give Ratchet the capability to interact with everything around him, the tables turn in his favor. With this new power, he has a new mission: catch up to Blackheart and cast him into Davy Jones's locker.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**The Holovite that Changed the Omniverse**

The rear of the smuggler's cargo hold was dark. Perfect for an interrogation. And that was just what Ratchet and the smuggler needed. Ratchet was sitting on a cargo crate with an N60 Storm in his hand, looking at his victim: a Thugs-4-Less employee. The thug's hands were tied behind his back, and he was sitting on a crate identical to Ratchet's. This may have been perfectly normal for an interrogation if Ratchet hadn't taped the thug's own blaster to his head and positioned him above the trapdoor Ratchet had once been jettisoned out of. The thug looked like he was about to cry for mommy. It was pathetic, in Ratchet's eyes. The employees at T4L had a reputation to upkeep, and this guy wasn't helping the image at all. The smuggler held a bottle in one hand and a carbine rifle in the other. He looked at Ratchet and offered him the bottle in his hand.

"Have a drink, lombax," he said. "It'll help your aim." At his, the thug started to struggle a bit, but he didn't try anything clever; either he knew that he was never going to make it, or he had a devious plan to escape hidden up his sleeve…unlikely for a guy with a sweat-stained tank top on.

"Don't mind if I do," said Ratchet casually as he tilted his head back. The alcohol seemed a bit stale, but really, who cared? It was alcohol, and Ratchet had developed a bit of a taste for it. He took a few guzzles and brought it away from his lips. He wiped his mouth, then looked back down at the thug and gave an intentional belch, hoping to increase the fear factor on his prey; he was opting for the "calm interrogator" method. Ratchet held the N60 Storm with a loose hand, which he rested on his right leg. He looked the thug straight in the eyes. The thug started to twitch in fear.

"Look," the lombax sighed, "the quicker you cooperate, the more likely I am to fry that gun on your head and avoid melting a hole right through your snout. Makes both our lives easier, right?" he asked.

"Please! I only do what the boss says! I don't question him! I just do it!" the thug pleadingly explained himself.

"Ahh, he's just a waste of time, lombax," said the smuggler. "Completely useless information! Leave him to the mercy of outer space!"

"No, please! Just put the gun away! I'll do what you want! What…whatever you want to know. Whatever you want to know!" he said rapidly.

"Alright," said Ratchet, cracking his neck as well as his knuckles. "You seem like you mean it. What's the bounty?"

"You're worth a millions bolts each. That price got quintupled by the boss man after you recaptured the Prog twins!" the thug said hopefully, looking for a positive sign from either Ratchet or the smuggler, the latter of which was nodding his head, smiling approvingly and rubbing his chin.

"Five million bolts, huh?" he said slowly, savoring the sentence. "I'm moving up in the galaxy."

"Yeah, five mil might be good for you, but me? I'm worth at least twice that," said Ratchet. He turned back to the thug and loaded his Storm.

"Well, now, we appreciate you being honest with us," he said. The thug started struggling.

"Hey! Hey, what the fuck, man! I told you everything!" he yelled.

"Yeah, but you did try to kill us," said Ratchet, pretending as if he was thinking it through. "And, after all, one good deed deserves another, right?" He aimed at the gun. "Now be still so I don't make a mess." The thug stopped struggling, eyes wide with fear. Ratchet aimed, taking his time to increase the suspense. He pulled the trigger…

And the gun splintered into pieces.

"Son of a bitch!" cried the thug, who had resumed struggling. "I told you all I know!"

"Oh, shut up," said Ratchet. With that, he grabbed the trapdoor lever and prepared to activate it. He looked back at the squirming thug. "Don't forget to write," he said maliciously, pulling the lever. Immediately, the thug and his cargo container fell out of the bottom of the ship. Ratchet could hear him screaming like a little girl. He close the trapdoor and looked at the smuggler.

"That's the fifty-seventh thug this month, right?" he asked.

"I stopped counting after nineteen," replied the smuggler. "I don't even care anymore. We've killed all the others. Why'd we let this one live a bit longer?"

"I wanted to know why they were so intent on killing us. Five million big ones will make somebody do anything."

"It'd be better just to kill them all."

Ratchet shrugged. "If it works for you." He crouched next to the container he had been sitting on and rapped it with his knuckles a few times.

"Clank? You can come out now," he said.

The container popped open, and out came the little robotic partner Ratchet had traveled the galaxy with.

"Thank you for letting me stay in there, Ratchet," he said, rubbing his blinking red antenna. "You know how much I…dislike your interrogations."

"Well, if they want to attack us, I say let them try, then let 'em have it with both barrels. It's their problem if they want bolts and end up getting shot out of a cargo hold instead."

"There must be another way to solve our problems than simply killing everybody who stands in our way."

"Well, if there is, why don't you find it?"

"Because the odds of finding another solution are approximately three hundred and twenty thousand to-"

"Exactly. Because of the odds. When have we ever turned a deaf ear to the odds, Clank?" asked Ratchet with dripping sarcasm. "How can you even suggest that we're such daredevils?"

"I merely mean to say that we have a very slim chance of finding said method," Clank stated.

"I know that we 'have a very slim chance of finding said method,' Clank," Ratchet said. "That's why I'm leaving you to find it and taking…other responsibilities upon myself."

"Ugggh, girls, girls, you're both pretty," said the smuggler, tired of their arguing. "Can we stop talking about this useless 'method' and keep going the old school route?" Clearly, he didn't like being bothered while he was flying.

"Awwk! You're both pretty girls! Both pretty girls! Awwk!" said his parrot, who had perched himself on a cargo crate.

"Oh great. I forgot about _him_," said Ratchet. "Can somebody do something to drown him out of my ears?"

"No problem, friend," said the smuggler with a mischievous smile. He leaned over in the pilot's seat, reached for a button, and pressed it gently with one finger. Immediately the ship started to vibrate with _buzz'_es, _whir'_s, and _wub-wub'_s. The poor lombax drooped his ears and folded them on top of his head with his hands, trying anything and everything he could to escape the noises that auditory-sensitive organisms despised.

"DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING OTHER THAN SKRILLEX?!" he yelled over the music.

"YES, I DO!" the smuggler hollered in reply. He twisted the same button he used to start the music. Immediately, Ratchet heard growling lyrics and a speeding electric guitar, accompanied by a drummer who seemed to be having a spasm, and that spasm was actually considered music…to an extent.

"SWEET JESUS! DO WE HAVE TO KEEP ON GOING LIKE THIS FOREVER? I'M NOT A HEADBANGER, SO YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT IRON MAIDEN!" Ratchet yelled, pissed off. The smuggler, calm as ever, changed the channel one more time. Now, someone who sounded drunk was singing to an unplugged acoustic guitar, harmonica, and a bona fide banjo. It was very mellow, and Ratchet didn't need to raise his voice to be heard.

"Keep this going, you smart ass, and nobody will ever hear from Toby Keith ever again," he snarled.

"Well, if you don't like it, then why'd you ask?'

"Cause I assumed you had a plan B," said Ratchet, his tone changing to a deadly calm.

"I do have a plan, B friend. I _always_ have a plan B," said the smuggler, absentmindedly snapping his fingers to the music.

"Then use it," said the impatient lombax.

"If you insist." The smuggler humored Ratchet and pushed the same button again. Everything went quiet. Ratchet relaxed. A few seconds passed awkwardly, until Ratchet asked the smuggler-

"What're you waiting for? Play your plan B."

"This is my plan B," said the smuggler. "Silence." As soon as he finished saying it, Ratchet's Grummelnet device chirped.

"_Congratulations! You've just received a holovite from…_

"_Finnegan O' Qwarksalot!"_

The lombax sighed. He pulled out his device.

"_Again?_ The last time he did this, I almost died at the hands of the bane of my species' existence." He gave his Grummelnet device to the smuggler. "Can you play this? It'd better not be another invitation to the Imperial Beatshit Tournament or something like that."

The smuggler obliged and played the holovite. Qwark's face was visible on a restaurant background, but he was disguised with a large, fake moustache, a bowler hat, and a monocle. When he talked, he assumed a British accent.

"Are you there, lad? I'm contacting you from the Polaris Defense Center to tell you about a new scourge of the galaxy. You see, there's been word about a new villain called Bla-"

"Your steak and chips, sir," said a waiter with a British accent, who had brought a plate of steak and French fries into Ratchet's view. Telling from the hand, the waiter was Blargian in race.

"Oh, give me a minute, pal," said Qwark, with his normal voice fully restored. "I mean…Of course, my good man. Right here, quick as you like," said Qwark, quickly recovering his false voice. The waiter set Qwark's meal down in front of him and walked away. Qwark quickly shoved the plate out of Ratchet's line of sight. He resumed talking to Ratchet.

"Okay, I'm not at the Defense Center. I'm at Galaxy Burger. Absolutely ridiculous, if you ask me," he said, his accent making him all the more an oddity as if the costume was completely normal attire for casual events. "I was saying, there's a new scourge rising from beneath the dark bowels of the Magus Sector. He calls himself Blackheart. I'm afraid the poor chap isn't quite up to date on the villainy aspect of his occupation. I'd take care of him myself, but I figured I'd step aside and let some less deserving take the credit." Qwark picked up a fry and inspected it, then stroked it with a huge finger, evidently trying to rid it of dust. He squinted, rotating it three hundred and sixty degrees. It seemed to be fine, because he popped it in his mouth, chomping audibly. Ratchet turned his head away with his palms toward the screen, muttering, "Oh, God" in disgust. When the chewing noises ceased, Ratchet dared to put his hands down and refocus. This was a rather difficult task when the person talking had bits of French fry in their teeth and you had no way to tell them that.

"Anyway, this fellow is not tiptoeing down the primrose path," said Qwark, belching immediately after he finished his sentence. "He's got mates, and they're not exactly friendly either. I wish you the best, Agent Dead Meat. MI6-" He stopped. Ratchet could hear some upbeat music in the background. He recognized the song: "Turn Down for What."

"OOOHHHHH! Dat's my jaaam!" Qwark had immediately abandoned all thoughts of covert ops. He jumped up, threw off his costume to reveal his trademark green suit and started dancing. His moves were quite disturbing, including grabbing his crotch with one hand and twirling the other over his head, bending over backwards on one hand while holding the other flat and moving his hips, and (this was the nail in the coffin in terms of Ratchet being scarred for life) twerking. The lombax once again turned his head away, eyes screwed shut with determination to get that image out of his head. He heard Qwark whooping and yelling. "Wat choo lookin' at?" he exclaimed. Immediately, Ratchet imagined a customer staring at the superhero throbbing his butt at them. Then to Ratchet's relief, he heard Qwark say this-

"Oh, shit. The red light's still on." There was a fumbling sound, then silence; Qwark had ended his transmission. Ratchet turned back towards the cockpit window. He walked up to the Grummelnet device and safely unplugged it.

"Well, if I saw disturbing videos before this, forget them. I think we could put this on _Intergalactic Celebrities Gone Wild_. Don't you think?" he asked the smuggler as he was looking at the passing planets. There was no response from the smuggler. Ratchet looked down at him. His face was frozen, staring at the screen with open jaw. Ratchet waved his hand in front of the smuggler. There was no response. Ratchet then noticed that the smuggler's piece of straw was missing from his mouth. Ratchet scanned the floor around the smuggler's feet until he saw it. He picked it up by the untouched end, put it back in the smuggler's jaw, and closed his mouth. The smuggler came to, shaking his head.

"Thank you, friend," he said. "I feel naked without this thing." He pulled out the straw, twirling it through his fingers as he spoke. He put it back in his mouth. "Sounds like his intel is total BS. I wouldn't take orders from a dancing retard in spandex."

"Well, no matter how stupid Qwark may be, it's worth a shot. We don't have anything else to do. Patch us through to Talwyn. We might as well tell her where we're going and what we're doing." The smuggler pushed a different button again, and dived for cover; he was still considered rogue and had warrants on every planet except Quantos. Talwyn's face showed on the screen. She jumped in surprise at first.

"Ratchet! You scared me! I was just talking to another patrol! What's going on?" she said.

"Nothing much. How's the baby?"

"The baby's fine," she said. "He'll be strong and hard-headed, just like his father."

Ratchet smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. Listen, we were just heading out to the Magus Sector on a tipoff from Captain Qwark. He just gave us a holovite explaining something about a new threat."

Talwyn looked down, smile swept from her face. "The…Magus Sector? But, Ratchet, they classified that sector as 'Intangible' eons ago!"

"I know, Tal, but…" Ratchet sighed. "Remember all of the villains I've faced? Which one was the worst? Which one rose from the ashes and became the greatest villain of their time? Every last one of them. Do we really want to risk the universe _again_? I've grown stronger over the years, sure, but I've grown smarter. If we stop the threat now, we won't have to worry about getting our butts kicked later. Make sense?"

"Yeah, but…" Talwyn hesitated. "I would say 'Take Cronk and Zephyr,' but you can't, can you?" she finished sadly.

"Tal, it's alright. They're…in a better place now," Ratchet told her gently.

Talwyn looked at him, digging deep into his eyes, trying to find some hint of a poorly executed practical joke. When she saw nothing of the sort, she said, "Okay, I guess it'd be all right. But I'll have to ask the Polaris troops to take over your watch. Have fun earning your paycheck," she joked.

"Alright. Keep a close eye on things," Ratchet replied, smiling. He turned off the screen. "You can come out now." The smuggler heard Ratchet, and he stood up and slid himself into the chair.

"Okay. Next stop: the Magus Sector," Ratchet said to the smuggler. In turn, the smuggler pushed a button, and they were thrown into a tunnel at the speed of light. Vibrant colors flew past, indicating planets and stars and supernovas all happening in the blink of an eye. Ratchet took a few seconds to marvel in this wonder of nature, then turned back to the cargo hold.

"I think I can safely assume that a smuggler's always ready for trouble. Let's see what you got back here." Ratchet looked at all of the crates that the smuggler had in his ship.

"Friend, I have weapons hidden in the walls of the ship, but those crates reside all of my favorite toys. Those junk-lookin' things might just be my pride and glory."

"Well, they sound prestigious enough. Let's have a look-see," said Ratchet, opening the first one. He took inventory as he went.

"Let me see here…fragmentation grenades, standard issue…black market EMP grenades…9-bangers, Polaris Defense Corps issue…OW! JESUS!" Ratchet quickly pulled his hand out, shaking it in considerable pain.

"Ah, I see you've found my Zyphoid trap," said the smuggler mischievously.

"What the hell's that doing in here?"

"Just cause."

"Cause why?"

"Cause reasons," said the smuggler. Ratchet rolled his eyes and returned to taking inventory.

"Old high school photo…nice face you had as a teenager, by the way…_Duran Duran_ CD…another photo…of Courtney Gears…provocatively dressed…Actually, she doesn't have any clothes at all." Ratchet looked at the back of the smuggler with wide eyes and a disgusted look.

"Never seen that before in my life," said the smuggler, shaking his head with his back turned towards Ratchet.

Ratchet continued rummaging. "A RYNO V?"

"I have a permit for that," the smuggler hastily replied.

Ratchet scoffed. "Since when the hell do you have a permit for anything?"

"Alright, you got me," the smuggler said with an aggressive tone. "It was me, you hear, and I'm glad, _glad_, I tell ya?" He put on a begging voice. "What're they gonna do to me, Sarge? What're they gonna do?"

"They'll confiscate it and use it for their own," Ratchet said, taking out the weapon and setting it down with the rest of the things they could use to eliminate this new villain. Everything else he put back (excepting the Courtney Gears photo, which he silently kissed before returning it to its home), and began to look through another crate. _This is gonna take forever,_ he thought to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**The Finest Tea in All of Magus**

The Magus Sector turned out to be eerily quiet… When Talwyn said that it was Intangible, I didn't think that it would be a literal meaning. There was nothing here! Not even a couple of asteroids to fill this dark corner of space. We rode through the inhabited sector speechless and after another 5 minutes of searching we were still stuck with a empty space for our view - Wait no! There was 1 - Count 'em 1 - asteroid in this sector… I groaned out of frustration.

"I guess you were right. Our intel was total BS. That green buffoon is going to get a hiding when I get back to him" The Smuggler laughed, a bit more than necessary and I gave him a questioning look.

"Well, Friend. As much as I would _love _to see that... I don't think that we will be getting back home in such a hurry."

"What? Am I missing something, or are you being sarcastic? I really can't tell with you sometimes."

The Smuggler just looked at me for a couple seconds, annoyed, before turning his attention back to the empty space ahead of us and answering me.

"Friend. This isn't the place we're meant to be precisely. Ya see, we need to find 'The Gate' to get in here."

"So where in hell is this bloody gate?"

"Have you ever wondered why this sector is 'Intangible?" He left my question in the queue behind another and cut me off before I could say anything to it.

"Ever wondered why it's recommended to stay _away_, from this here sector?" I nodded.

"Have you even heard of this sector before your idiotic friend told us to give it a visit?" I sheepishly shook my head.

"It's 'cause its a villains sector." He explained without explaining it and I gave him a look of confusion which caused him to sigh.

"Criminals, Crooks, Antiheroes, Bad guys. They come here! It's a… Safe Haven, of sorts. It also means that only the before mentioned villains and crooks can get in and out of this here sector… Anyone else see's all this!" He splayed his arms out to emphasise the emptiness surrounding us.

"Riiight… So does that mean you can get us in?" I asked him eyebrow raised, hoping for a straight answer for once.

"Nope… Not until we find the gate, that is."

"Great… Just great. How long will this take?"

"Gee you're like an annoying little kid, aren't you? Yes I can take you there… But like I said, it's a villain's sector. When they come to our ship to let us in, they won't. Everyone around these parts knows you. The Hero. The Savior. The Last Lombax… And his metallic robot sidekick. So tell me, why in hell would they let you of all people in? Except for the fact that they would ambush you… All at once..." I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Well I didn't come round here just to leave so you could finish this mission on your own!"

"You won't be leaving…" The man said slyly while turning away to a secret compartment in his ship and looking around.

"Well… What've you got planned? A hologuise? Or-" I Blacked out suddenly with the last thing I remember being a flash of silver…

"Oh hey! You're that smuggling feller aren't ya?" I heard a muffled voice as I came to. "Could you sign here please? We're re-instating the passport policy, though long time users like yourself get it free. Now there will be no more border patrol! Just swipe and continue."

Passport policy? What are we doing at an airport? Was all I though through my foggy mind. I had the worst headache from what I think was a silver hammer that the Smuggler had hit me with… Speak of the devil, I heard his voice.

"Oh that sounds great friend. Just here? Great. T... S... Now is that all?"

"Yes sir! Our customs are still the same… They were just losing money in what they call an 'unneeded area of expertise" The muffled voice huffed and seemed down by this, and It seemed that The Smuggler cared a little bit too.

"Oh, that's too bad, Frank. I hope you find another job before Lucy tries eating you again, eh?" The two then laughed for a bit. I then made the mistake of opening my eyes and felt the headache grow as well as introduce its new pet to me. Dizziness. God, it was almost unbearable. I think I groaned because I was quickly rewarded with a sharp kick up the ass by someone, the Smuggler himself most likely. What the hell was he doing?

I groaned again louder this time and received another kick up the hiney.

"Are you sure it's nothing? The muffled voice asked, presumably about my groaning noises.

"Ahh no, just another one of them goddamn annoying pets. You know, Mertels? The most _Annoying Frustrating Pain in my Ass Right Now _bird." I received another kick.

"Ahh yes, but the right ones are worth a charm, aren't they?"

"Yep. Now I'm sorta in a hurry Frank, gotta get down to business as usual. So gimme a call some other time."

"Oh, yes. Certainly. You may go as you please… Uh just one more thing actually…"

"Yes, Frank?"

"What do your initials stand for? T.S.?" The Smuggler chuckled at this before answering. Obviously no one knew his real name, heck even I was curious. I perked my ears up as far as I could to make sure I heard this.

"The. Smuggler." was all the muffled voice and I got before they said their goodbyes and we zoomed off.

After a couple of minutes of speeding we jerked to a stop and I felt a hand around my neck pull me out of the cramped space I was in before.

"What the heck do you think you were trying to pull back there?!" He screamed at me before chucking me down and retrieving a shutdown Clank from the same space he got me from.

"What was I doing? What were you doing? You locked me in some cabinet with Clank for who knows how long!"

"47 minutes and 23 seconds… But I did that for a reason, friend. Look around and you'll thank me for it."

I looked out the front windscreen of his ship almost expecting an empty void. But it wasn't. This sector was filled to the brim with energy and movement. Chases. Shooting. Small wars even. Yet the same area about 47 minutes and 52 seconds ago was empty, hold for that one asteroid I saw floating around.

"How is this possible you might ask? Well If I told you I'd lose my privileges around this place, so lets just say one bad dude mixed science and magic and… Voila!" He waved his arm at the almost hectic sight before us.

"So you needed to lock me up with a small cabinet for what reason?"

"You don't have a passport, neither does you little friend. So even if you put on a hologuise, we'd have needed to go through the whole 'NBG' path. Plus your heroes and you'd be _very easy _to snuff out.

'Any villain, self-proclaimed bad guy and/or ne'er do well who is caught assisting a hero into our sector will be killed on sight. No exceptions.'

Thats the only rule."

I could've argued about the fact that I could've hidden there on my own accord, amongst other things. But I decided to drop it. Arguing wouldn't get us anywhere.

"Okay. That sounds cheery. So what now?"

The Smuggler shifted past me and slid his hand across the wall until a compartment opened up. He then pulled out two hologuises and chucked one of them at me.

"Your name is Tony. You are single and poor with an expertise in Grubbel Grubs. Your helping me with some of those before mentioned grubs for some bolts. Clank on the other hand will be Antoinette. Your brothers daughter who you're looking after."

I pushed the button on my belts latest feature and found myself turning blue. I had turned into a species that looked fairly close to a Novailian… But with features of other species too. You couldn't put your finger on just one…

"What species am I exactly?"

"We call you 'Mixis'. Your new species was built in a lab and somehow survived. You're native to this sector and no one really likes you…"

"Great. Okay. So where are we gonna find this Blackheart guy? It's not like we really know anything about him… Really we've just been told his name."

"Friend. Would I take you into this sector if I didn't know what I was doing?

"If it wasn't for all those leviathan souls I'm sure you wouldn't be here at all…"

"Touche… Anyway. Believe it or not, I have a plan. First off we're going to be visiting an old friend on planet Prixsies. He knows all of what goes on around here, from politics to a war between two species of ants. After we know a bit more about our enemy, we'll gear up, kill him, and get you out of here before the whole sector is on to us."

"Well let's get to it then."

We had landed on Prixsies an hour ago. A barren wasteland lay ahead of me. Miles and miles of nothing except for the metropolis in the direct centre. The sky was a browny colour from pollution and there were massive black clouds hovering above the city from metal chimneys that were scattered around the clump of metal. It looked ruthless, a place you didn't want to mess with, let alone the people inside it. We passed through the force field surrounding the city and began looking for a place to land, only to find that it would cost us 50 bolts an hour. The Smuggler had his own way of dealing with these things and some rich guys Hovarri got pinned for not having a ticket and kept by the parking lot owner… Yes The Smuggler had his ways...

We walked through the city giving dirty looks to everyone else who was giving dirty looks to us - I think it was a custom here. But I did not like it here. My hand kept twitching towards my wrench at my belt. I felt the need to protect myself from this place. I felt like there we're dozens of eyes peering through the cracks and through my hologuise. But no one came at us.

Surprisingly we ended up at a tea shop which had 'The Finest Tea In All Of Magus' as they had proudly printed on the outside wall of the shop. But when I reached the interior, a putrid smell overcame me, even Clank could sense something bad in the air. Pairs of eyes turned around to size us up. Not just pairs actually, triplets and two septuplets of eyes on slimy stalks. It felt like we just walked into an old western bar… except much worse.

Seconds passed and so did the centre of attention as a fat man in a suit started screaming to a gently plucked acoustic guitar and everyone cheered the man on. As the spotlight was on his, we decided to make our move an ask around about Blackheart, starting with the bartender.

"Hello good men. Would you like some tea?" He asked us enthusiastically.

"We would like to ask you some questions actually" The Smuggler crossed his arms, but the tea keeper was stubborn.

"No tea no service! Now get out. I have customers waiting for me." I looked behind us and found the whole room empty except for a like of tea lovers glaring at us, ready to chuck us out.

"Drinks on me!" I shouted without thinking. A roar erupted and I was picked up quickly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Clank giggling away under his hologuise as I rode the wave of tea lovers who didn't put me down till their tea arrived. 10 minutes well wasted.

They put me down when the bell that signalled their tea was being served rung, and each individual shook my hand and thanked me… Not what you would expect from a hard looking bunch like these guys, though I guess everyone has a soft spot…

I walked back to The Smuggler and Clank after the big screamer performer crushed my hand, drank his tea and declared his next song be dedicated to me. The Smuggler let out a laugh as I approached.

"Gee, Friend. In all my years coming to this place, I ain't never seen anyone do that before. Kudos!"

"Uh, thanks. Is the 'Tea Man' ready to see us? Or is it going to take another round of tea?" The Smuggler opened his mouth to speak, but his voice is not the one I heard.

"You have proven yourself worthy of the Tea Bar Association… TBA for short... Come, mixed one. We have much to discuss..." The bartender told me through his scratchy voice.

We followed...


	3. The Teaman and Associates

**The Tea Man and…Associates**

The back of the tea shop was deceptively large. There was a hall with at least six different doors to choose from after you had gotten past the door behind the bar. The bartender led Ratchet and the smuggler down to the very last door. As they walked, Ratchet couldn't help noticing the keypads on every door they passed. Odd. Why was everything so rusty-looking on the outside? He whispered to the smuggler just quietly enough so that the bartender couldn't hear.

"They're awfully security-conscious for a beaten-down dollhouse out in the sticks. There's a keypad on every single door," he said through the corner of his mouth.

"For good reason. Do you want somebody finding your secret collection of playtime jackhammers?" the smuggler said, attempting at humor.

"No, no. That can't be right. Too much security," said Ratchet, thinking over all the small details in the area. "Plus, the bartender's clothing looks like it's loose enough to hide a sawed-off Constructo shotgun." Almost as soon as he said it, the bartender reached for the back of his pants and pulled out a Constructo pistol, firing randomly and hoping for a hit. This allowed Clank to place a neatly executed foot on his kneecap. The bartender screamed in pain as Ratchet followed up his broken knee with an effective disarming technique. The bartender kneeled down, still clutching his leg. Ratchet tossed the gun to the smuggler and helped the bartender up.

"Alright, there we go. Nice and easy now. That's it," he said, throwing the bartender's arm around his own neck.

"Well, you were close," said the smuggler, as Ratchet helped their assailant walk to the door they had been heading towards. The bartender typed in the access code, and the door opened. The four heard a voice inside.

"Darling, I swear, I could never look at another woman," came the voice. It was of Cazar descent. As the door fully opened, Ratchet saw a Cazar behind a desk, sitting in a chair with a slim Valkyrie. How the hell does that work, huh? thought Ratchet, disgusted. So much for Qwark being One of Nature's Greatest Mysteries! This easily tops that.

The Cazar had taken notice of the intruders' presence. He got up, and the Valkyrie was forced to stand as well, stumbling a bit as she did.

"Well, Randall, I'm glad you can still keep your clothes on when you're having cuddle time," said the smuggler.

"Wait. You know this guy?" asked Ratchet, but he was drowned out by the Cazar.

"Tell me, 'smuggler,'" he said, moving his hands as if they were mystical objects. "give me one good reason why I shouldn't press this button-" Here, he pointed to a button on his desk. "-and have my security use that lovely fedora of yours for a little target practice?"

"Because you owe me a favor, Randall," said the smuggler in a threatening tone. "And it's a ten-gallon hat, not a fucking detective's cover."

"Ha!" said Randall. "A ten-gallon hat on a one-quart head." His hazel eyes stared unwaveringly at the smuggler, his athletic body coiled like a spring, waiting for something to happen, his teeth bared and ears laid back. Ratchet mimicked Randall, hissing as if to give the Cazar a warning.

"Who's your furry bitch?" asked Randall, smiling maliciously at Ratchet, his fists and attention directed at the young lombax.

"Run that by me again, and step a little fucking closer," said Ratchet in a deeper voice than usual, returning Randall's evil eyes.

"Watch your ass around here, kid," bit back Randall. "I'm the one with the fucking dick."

"Ladies, you're both too damn pretty," said the smuggler. "Randall, I just want some intel. Then we'll be out of the way."

Randall snorted. "What kind of intel is this? Getting really goddamn desperate to be scouring for the latest word on the Quantos rebellion all the way out here."

"No. We need more information on a space pirate named Blackheart. I don't doubt you've heard of him."

Randall stood there for a minute, thinking. "Wait here," he said the the Valkyrie, who silently nodded. Walk with me," he said, turning to the open door and walking out of the room. Ratchet and the smuggler walked, but Clank did not. "You too, bot," added Randall.

"How the hell did you know they were Hologuises?" asked the smuggler.

"Could you have been anymore fucking obvious? The belts are dead giveaways. Any chick checking you out would be able to tell. Although depending on what you were disguised as, she might be more likely to take the ride," said Randall. "Now, this Blackheart bastard…" he said while typing the code to one of the doors in the middle of the hall. "…He ain't pretty. His crew ain't pretty. And their battle methods ain't pretty."

The door unlocked, and Randall pushed it open. "Ladies first," he said, and the smuggler, tipping his hat, walked through. Ratchet walked in slowly, at the ready to fight to the death if it came to that. Clank just walked. Randall closed the door behind them. They had walked into a lounge. Couches, chairs, HV complete with VG10K, and a beat-up fridge.

"Sit down," he said, arms gesturing to the various appliances.

As Ratchet sat, he couldn't shake the feeling that Randall was trying to betray the smuggler. That feeling changed quite suddenly when Randall started talking again.

"Me and Blackheart never saw eye to optic," said Randall, opening the fridge and grabbing a stale beer. "We were always competing for business. Dope-smuggling experts, weapon supply lines, rations for our crews…the usual shit. Then Blackheart gets interested in organism trafficking. He's called Blackheart for a few reasons. That's just one of them." Randall took a swig of beer.

"I send four of my guys to tell the bastard he can't do that. They go off the radar for a while. One day, I get a package with four hearts in it. Connect the fucking dots." Randall fell back on an armchair.

"That is…gruesome," Clank chimed in.

"Maybe you have a secret admirer," the smuggler jibed.

"More like a well-known enemy," said Randall. "After that, well, we had a hell of a time. We were both trying to trip the other up constantly, and now it's a gang war." Randall finished off his beer and belched, throwing the empty bottle over his head. It shattered on the floor.

"Now listen," he said. "I'm glad to see the bastard taken down, alright? But if I help you, I get to be there when he dies."

"It sounds like a plan…if you can get there on your own," said Ratchet ominously.

"Well, well, if it's not the coward who wouldn't tear apart reality to be with his race." Randall leaned in. "I can see it in your eyes. It burns you to have come so close, doesn't it?"

"Hey, lay off him. We came for intel, we got it," said the smuggler, trying to keep the peace. "Now we'll go and no har-" An explosion cut him off, sending them flying across the room in various places. Ratchet groaned, his vision blurry. It felt like his arm was on fire. He looked down and regained vision to see a particularly nasty-looking shard of metal impaled through his arm. The metal on the underside of his arm was stained red with blood. A figure approached him through the smoke. It was the smuggler. Ratchet saw him grab the metal in his arm as he asked Ratchet, "Ready?" Without waiting for a reply, he yanked the metal out, and Ratchet yelled in agony. Immediately, the smuggler placed Nanotech on the gaping hole in Ratchet's arm, and it healed. Ratchet groaned through clenched teeth, giving his arm a few shakes and closing his eyes. He stood to his feet. The figures of Randall and Clank got closer and closer. Randall was bloody, and Clank had scratches all over his square body.

"What the fuck!" yelled Randall, mad at the smuggler for some reason. "You trying to kill us?!"

"Why would this be me?" shouted the smuggler. "We're not kamikazes!"

"SHUT UP!" hollered Ratchet. "Look, whoever did this is still here. I have an idea who…Follow me." He ran out of the room, not certain but confident the others were behind him.

He ran back to the drinking area. Pandemonium was already in full swing, with everybody running around and screaming their heads off like wild Zyphoids. Emergency rescue teams were already here, trying to settle everything down. Ratchet was trying to locate the one person he didn't trust anymore. He burst outside, and it was totally different. There were fewer people, just a few firemen with their vehicles and a stationary cop car, complete with a cop making sure nobody tried to crowd around, surrounding the building. Ratchet walked down the steps, defeated. There was no way the guy was still here. Unless…But that was nearly impossible. A cop car in the Magus Sector? Like hell. Ratchet had an idea.

"HELP! HELP!" he yelled. All of the rescue heads turned…except for the cop, who started walking away. "Never mind," he said to the fireman who had almost started to help Ratchet limp-walk, never taking his eye off the false cop. "I'm fine. Thanks anyway," he finished, running in pursuit of the cop.

The faux cop had already started getting into his car. Ratchet ran as fast as he could and barely managed to grab onto the cop before the latter had slammed the door shut. Ratchet disarmed the cop and threw him on the ground, aiming the cop's own blaster at his face.

"Well, if it's not the bartender," said Ratchet in a dangerous voice. He threw the cop gun away and grabbed the bartender by the shirt.

"Who told you to do this?" he said, face-to-face with the bartender's.

"B-B-Blackheart," the bartender stuttered.

"Why?"

"He ordered a h-h-hit on R-Randall. He w-w-w-was going to kill me if I didn't!"

"Where is he? Tell me where Blackheart is," pressed Ratchet.

"I c-c-can't! He'll kill me if I do!"

"Tell me," Ratchet said, " and I swear I'll protect you."

"Alright, alright!" said the bartender. "He's in orbit on the other side of the plan-" He was cut short as his forehead had a hole driven through it by an invisible object. Ratchet got blood on his face as he let go of the body, shocked at the result of his capture. He stood back up and saw Randall, the smuggler, and Clank running towards him.

"What happened here?" asked Clank.

"I had him. He was a plant. Blackheart's trying to assassinate you, Randall," said Ratchet.

"Well, that's fucking great, kid," said Randall sarcastically. "But unless you know where Blackheart is, you weren't a better Keeper than your daddy, were you?"

"Easy," said the smuggler.

"No problem," said Ratchet. "I'm used to fucking up bitches who talk shit. But back to subject- Blackheart's in orbit above the planet, but he's on the other side. So we'll have to haul ass to make it there before he tries to bail."

"Good thing we didn't park too far away," said the smuggler. "Don't worry, Randall. You'll get accustomed to riding with the contraband."


End file.
